The Journey before Panem
by Apples of Idunn
Summary: "Everything I've ever loved is gone. Now all that I have left is myself and my sorrows. I can't undo what has been done. But still, I can try." This is the story of a girl named Anastasia, and with the help of an avox, went on a journey to try and save the still new Panem, as she is one of the very first tributes in the Hunger Games.
1. Prologue

The Journey before Panem

Prologue-

***I do not own the Hunger Games, thanks to Suzanne Collins***

My breath escapes my mouth in a foggy mist as I hurry along. I hear the barks of the search dogs behind me, but I don't dare risk a look back. Revealing my face will only give the government a better idea of who I am, or rather, who I used to be.

_How could it have come to this?_ I ask myself as I continue running. The forest looms huge and green around me, and tree roots clutch at my feet, aiming to trip me. I zip through the trees on the moonlit night, the eerie grey-white glow cascading around me, but I hope that it is dark enough for my pursuers to lose track of me, but that was unlikely.

I finally manage to find a river to lose my scent, plunge into it, and run off in another direction than I'm sure the soldiers would have imagined I'd be going. I hide behind a tree, my lungs burning with each frosty breath. I hear the words that President Grant whispered in my ear just a few nights ago.

"_There's no way you're getting out of this, Sienna, you will be hunted down, and if you're not caught within a few weeks, we will hunt you for the rest of your life. Nowhere will be safe."_

I shiver as President Grant's voice echoes perfectly in my head, as if her were next to me now. I shut my eyes, still trying to catch my breath. Suddenly, there is a sharp pain in my neck. My eyes open wide, and I feel at my jugular for a bullet hole. _It must have been one of those silent weapons they just developed,_ I reason with myself, but what's the point? I'm just going to die anyway.

But no, the thing in my neck isn't a bullet; it's a dart, which is much worse. My eyes feel heavy, and I know I've been shot with a tranquilizer dart. I pull the thing out of my neck, but it's too late. My heart is beating too fast, the chemical is running through my body at an alarming rate, and I'm quickly losing consciousness. As much as I will my body to resist, I crumple to the ground. I see a dark figure standing in front of me, a tranquilizer gun in his hand. He leans down next to my barely conscious form.

"When we get through with you, Sienna Nightingale," the voice whispered in my ear, "you're going to wish you were dead." That was the last thing I heard before my eyes drooped close, and I saw no more.

I wake up in a cold room. I am disoriented, and for a moment, I think that I had been asleep at home, that I had dreamt the whole thing up. But it only takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the bright florescent light. I find that my wrists and ankles have thick leather straps on them, as well as my waist and forehead. I try to scream aloud, but no sound comes out. I try and try again, until it feels as though my throat is being ripped out. I try to feel around to the back of my mouth with my tongue, but instead, find that the only thing that is moving to my command is a slimy stump residing in my jaw where my tongue should be.

_Oh god, _I think, because that is all I can do anymore, _they cut out my tongue!_

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading, I hope you liked it, and if you have any suggestions, please let me know in the review, or you can just review to tell me how much you liked it **** - CrazyTARDIS**827


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

*I do not own the Hunger Games*

My eyes crack open, and I groan, rolling onto my side.

_Please don't let it be morning,_ I think. But the lights flash on anyway, and Adder's voice is yelling harshly at us, "get up, you lazy avoxes!" I sit up mechanically, as I have been told to do so many times before. My fellow criminals follow, and I rub my eyes. Adder is telling us to get to our stations, because the first ever tributes will be arriving in just a few hours.

I leave the avox rooms and go to the dining rooms. I put on my avox uniform and begin to set the tables. Everything is new in this building, built about a year ago, and no one besides the avoxes and a few of the Capitol nobles have been in here. Soon, it will house 24 children, one from each district, who will be doing nothing but awaiting their death for others' entertainment. And next year, and the year after that, and forever.

I finish setting the table on this floor -district twelve- and move onto the one below it -district eleven- and so on. I am not the only one of course; there are still hundreds of avoxes running around trying to help, since the war is still a fresh smolder. There will be plenty of avoxes for at least twenty more years, until most of us die off.

Once I am done setting the table, I am sent to prepare district 12's rooms for the tributes' arrival. I make the beds, check the machinery, and dust everything. Many of these tasks can be done mechanically, but the Capitol enjoys watching us work.

A few hours later, we are allowed to watch the carriage rides from the window of the training center. I stare in awe at the beautiful people from Districts one, two and four. The others look pale and sickly, and altogether scared, even from my high vantage point. Even the sort of confident rich kids look frightened. They have been decked out in a costume to reflect what each District specializes in, but only a few get decent responses from the audience. Many are just glad the war is over.

President Grant -I shudder at the sight of him- gives a speech which I cannot hear, and the carriages disappear into the building. We all rush to our places lining the hallways, and the tributes look frightened yet flattered to be met with silent and respectful servants to cater to their every need. One -an eleven year old by the look of her- comes up to me and asks my name. I pale and simply shake my head. Her chaperone waves her on, chastising her quietly.

The tributes go to their designated floors, and I follow after District Twelve, to whom I have been assigned. I stand quietly in the elevator, not responding to any of the awed questions from the kids. One is a girl about 15, the other a boy roughly 17. As the door dings and opens the pair spill out, their chaperone, stylists, and prep teams following. I follow the girl into her room and stand awkwardly as she looks around in terrified awe.

"Why do they pamper us if they're just going to throw us into an arena to kill each other like savages?" She asked me.

_Because it's entertaining to them,_ I think, because I can't answer. Instead, I take a notepad and write on it.

'I don't know; you shouldn't talk to me, it's against the rules.'

I hand her the paper and shake my head sadly.

"Why is it against the rules?" She persists. I shrug.

"And why aren't you talking?" Hoping to calm her questions, I open my mouth, revealing the stump that resides within. She gives a sharp gasp of horror, her face turning green.

"Are all of you… like this?" She asks. I nod. She turns from me.

"I… I'm sorry; can you help me with a shower? It's been a long day." She is still dressed in a coal miner's outfit, and dirty make-up covers her face. Not very appealing. I nod and go into the bathroom. I push a button to run warm water, with moisturizing and cleansing suds, and then a warm blow dry. I wait in the room until she is done, straightening curtains, fluffing pillows, and the like.

When the girl emerges, she is dressed in a pair of silk pajamas, and she smiles at me.

"I'm Anastasia by the way," she says, "Anastasia Kohl."


End file.
